I’ve recently been the unwilling participant in a (not-so) mysterious game against myself. The game, which has lasted a few weeks now, is simple: at every moment I am equally as likely to sob as I am to emit a (loud) cross between a chuckle and a cackle.
I have a confession to make: in my head, I use the word “pop” instead of “soda” when I see someone grab a Mountain Dew or when I pass the Coca Cola bottles in the campus store.
Back in January, I opened an Instagram story posted by the sorority I used to be a member of and suddenly felt like I’d been stabbed in the gut.
We’ve finished that most sacred rite in the Duke year: men’s basketball. But never women’s. And also never any other sport even though they work hard too.
On Saturday, just as the warmth of the day gave way to a cool breeze, I walked around Sarah P. Duke Gardens.
The other day, I finished giving a campus tour and stood around on Abele Quad to answer any last remaining questions that the visitors had. One mother came up to me and said, “So you’re graduating soon—”
Imagine if during Orientation Week, you were guaranteed your dream job or top graduate school program upon graduation.
Last Friday morning, I sat in a room of my non-one percenter peers and attempted to decipher what, exactly, was being said to me about the debt I took on as part of the ever-rising cost of a Duke education.
You walk into class on the day of the midterm and slide into your usual seat.
Every day on my walk to class, I stroll past the stunning Duke Chapel that towers above me. Sometimes I stop to stretch my head up and take in the glorious architecture.
After reading two fellow columnists’ articles concerning affiliation at Duke, I was disheartened.
One of my New Year’s resolutions was to never stay up late for an assignment. It was a pretty unrealistic goal, especially for me.
It has come to my attention that there are those who regard the titling scheme I follow for many of my columns as “clickbait.”
I ask because since September of last year, Duke’s residential housekeeping staff have been required to work weekends.
“Give them their roses while they can still smell them.”
Duke students care too much about themselves, and not enough about Duke’s community.
In the fall of my junior year, I found my legs dangling from the exam table of a doctor’s office explaining symptoms of nausea that wouldn’t go away.
As a Duke student, getting flooded with emails is something I’m familiar with.
Duke is riddled with contradictions.
Last Wednesday, Duke notified GoTriangle that it refused to sign on to one of Durham’s largest-ever mass transit infrastructure projects, the Durham-Orange light rail.
